Hudson Nolan had returned, but the man who stepped back into the office was a far cry from the arrogant bureaucrat who had stormed out moments earlier. He didn't introduce himself as the formal manager; instead, he addressed Ace with a title that suggested a long-lost intimacy: "Nolan." His face was stretched into a wide, toothy grin—a look of calculated sincerity that only a man who had spent thirty years in the service industry could master. He seemed to have forgotten every insult he had hurled just an hour prior, now desperate to bridge the gap between his previous condescension and his current need for survival.
However, the warm reception Nolan was hoping for was immediately met with a wall of cold, hard muscle. Larry Anderson stood by the door, a premium Nat Sherman cigarette tucke
